If Looks Could Kill
by Monochrome Nightmares
Summary: Imagine a world meeting of the main countries called to order. After yet another failure of a civilized discussion, one country is found dead by the door. But it doesn't stop there. More and more are targeted, and it seems to not just be random anymore. Is it the way someone seeks revenge? Or could it be a new threat entirely, left to the hands of those who remain?
1. Phone Call

It was really sunny out. Really sunny, and really bright. Which would be a good thing. Except when you're trying to sleep.  
America was in his bed when his phone went off.  
"What, dude? Don't you know what time it is?" he said groggily.  
"Of course, but you obviously don't. Where are you? Everyone else is here already," said England, irritated. America didn't say anything.  
"You forgot, didn't you?" added England, annoyed.  
"What? Uh, no. Traffic's really jammed," said America.  
"I'll tell the others you forgot and aren't ready. Honestly, America, try to remember next time, said England, hanging up.  
America sighed, then got out of bed. He put on his glasses, and searched his closet for his suit.

*At the conference room*

"Let's get the meeting started. It's stuffy in here," said France.  
"I've told you already. We can't start without America, and he was still asleep when I called him," said England, sipping his tea.  
"Ve von't get anyzhing accomplished by stalling," said Germany, sighing. Looking around, he noticed that the other countries looked bored, and Greece was indeed, sleeping.  
It wasn't a big world meeting. Just the major countries of the world. Italy, Japan, England, France, America, Russia, China, Switzerland, Prussia, Austria, Hungary, Liechtenstein, Greece, Romano, Belarus, Ukraine, and, of course, Germany. Truth be told, he just wanted to get the meeting over with. They never ended well, and he wanted to keep the disarray and arguing to a minimum. Sometime later, America entered the conference room.  
"You certainly got here sooner than expected," said England, almost in disapproval. Whether it was because he was late or because he showed up at all, America would never know.  
"Dude, I called you, telling you that. Didn't you get my call?" asked America as he took his seat next to him.  
England crossed his arms. "No, I didn't."  
"That's weird. It explains why it went straight to voicemail though."  
"Anyvay, since ve've had our discussion about long-distance calls, let's get to serious business, _ja?_ " said Germany.  
"Who called the meeting anyway? It's not like we don't have our own business to attend to," said China, who was quite irritated.  
"I'm curious of that as werr," Japan thoughtfully replied.  
"It doesn't matter who called it, ve just need to start it. Who vould like to start?" asked Germany. He sighed. This meeting was getting nowhere, as per usual.  
"Global warming?" suggested Russia, smiling innocently.  
"Honestly, who cares about that? The advertisers just put up stupid pictures of polar bears on stupid ice chunks. Let's tlk about something cool for once," complained America, stuffing a hamburger in his mouth.  
Italy raised his hand in the air. Germany, relieved, called on him to speak.  
"PASTA!" Italy shouted. Germany face-palmed. He should have expected that from Italy's mouth, not some intellectual point he had been expecting from him. France quietly snuck out, with no one noticing.  
"This meeting is going nowhere. I'm leaving," announced China. He stood and left the conference room. He came running back up to the conference room a few minutes later, looking concerned.  
"What the heck, aru? The front door is locked," he said.  
"How about the bad phone reception here?" asked Russia.  
"It was crystal clear, then cut out after I called America. It's never done that before," said England, pondering while taking another sip of his tea.  
"Did you not hear? The door is locked," repeated China, irritated.  
France smiled, suddenly returning and taking his place back in his seat. "Ah, it is a beautiful day, no?" he said, gesturing to the nice, sunny day outside with his wine glass.  
England turned to him. "That's not even relevant to what we're talking about, frog!" he shouted at him. He turned to China. "The door shouldn't be locked. Are you sure?"  
China was very agitated. "If I wasn't, what makes you think I would still be here, aru?" Russia looked at the both of them, then looked out of the window, where dark clouds began rolling towards them.  
"Hey, those look like snow clouds, _da?_ " he said.  
England groaned, looking out of the window. "This is what happens when we finally have a sunny day. It snows, according to the snow expert," he grumbled. Russia smiled, letting out a sound similar to laughter.  
"Vell, since ve've made absolutely no progress, let's just close the meeting before the storm comes," said Germany, sighing and cleaning up his papers.  
Prussia came and threw his arm around Germany's neck. "Ah, lighten up, _Westen!_ It's not like any of these meetings are fun to begin vith!" he said, laughing. After all of the countries were out of the room and the lights were dimmed, no one was in a lightened mood as they went downstairs.


	2. Canadia Fell Asleep on Me Again

America was the first downstairs, eager that this was probably the shortest meeting ever. He stopped and shouted when he saw the body lying on their stomach, head turned away. There was blood flowing outwards from him like some morbid, red spiderweb. America immediately gasped and rushed to the body, hugging it tightly.  
"Oh," France said quietly. He was the only one who said anything for a while. The other countries didn't have anything to say. No one knew he lived, not until he died at least. America, the self-proclaimed hero, began crying over the loss of the sweet, innocent Canada.  
France came to sit beside him, followed by England. France began stroking his hair, gently caressing it. America turned him so that his face was visible, and shockingly silent tears began flowing out of France's eyes. England turned away, ashamed that he had never noticed Canada until he lay dead before him. He closed his eyes and let out a sound that was similar to a singular, pained sob.  
"Iggy, Canadia fell asleep on me again," America said, remembering when they would play together as children and Canada would fall asleep, too exhausted to play anymore. America began sobbing, knowing he wouldn't wake up again. Knowing that it wasn't just a childish game. America closed Canada's eyes, which were half open and glazed over, adding, "See, his eyes aren't open."  
England pulled America closer, hugging him almost as tightly as France was to Canada. "I know, America, I know," he said softly, while France quietly sang in French to the deceased nation, crying ever the harder when he knew Canada couldn't hug him back. Not now, not ever.  
Prussia and Germany had long since cleared the other nations away, letting them mourn alone, but the three of them still felt as crowded as when they were still here. England helped France and America to their feet, and said without conviction, "Come along, let's get him outside."  
France held Canada like he had when he was still a small child, but it certainly wasn't a happy time. Then again, it wasn't entirely peaceful then either. Seven Years' War, American Revolution, French Revolution. There was too much blood on his hands. So much red that couldn't be washed away.  
"Are you paying attention, France?" England said wearily. France looked up. "Neither America nor I can open the door. We'd like to get Russia to help, if that's fine." France nodded and England disappeared swiftly to the basement. A few minutes later, he had reappeared, Russia behind him. There weren't any words exchanged, Russia only took out his metal pipe and stuck the door, but hardly anything happened. Instead, scratches were left on not only the door, but the pipe as well.  
"I guess that's it, _da?_ " Russia said, lowering his pipe. "I can't break it."  
"Well, you tried," England sighed. "I can't fault you for that." He looked over at France, but he refused to make eye contact with him, instead looking at the clouds still ceaselessly making their way towards the summit building. He looked at America, but he too looked away once eye contact was made. England watched as he looked outside as the clouds blocked out all of the daylight, then looked over at Canada, who was still being held by France. America but his lip and quietly whimpered.  
America soundlessly withdrew his shotgun, but no one was watching. He cocked it, took aim, and fired.

The window didn't shatter. Why didn't it shatter when he shot it? Was the glass bulletproof? England and France stared at him, bewildered, and without warning, the other countries came running up from the basement. They seemed as confused as he was.  
"We heard a gunshot, aru," China said, gaping at the four of them. Russia smiled and walked over next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. China flinched.  
"America was trying to break a window by shooting it. Don't worry," Russia explained.  
"Yeah, everyone's fine," Prussia scoffed, although he seemed a bit paler than usual. "So vhy can't ve just go home? Zhese meetings suck." He seemed to be trying to not look at America, England, France, and especially not Canada. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, but he was making a concentrated effort to be himself.  
"We can't go home. The door won't open or break, same with the windows. We'll stay here, but everyone keep on high alert," England said. He pointed over his shoulder, where France was still holding Canada, cradling him in his arms. "Keep in mind it was one of us that did this." He disappeared, going back upstairs to find and claim his room.  
France and America retired to the summit's kitchen, where America took off his bomber jacket and set it across some chairs so when France lay Canada across them, no blood would fall. There were no words spoken between them; France only bent down and removed Canada's shirt and long winter coat, leaving his stab wound for the world to see. Blood still weakly trickled down his side, and it made America sick to look at him.  
"It's not your fault, _l'Amerique_ ," France said suddenly as he washed the blood out of Canada's clothes.  
America huffed impatiently, similar to that of a small child. "I know," he said in a sort of whiny voice. "It's just... I don't know. Don't you wish you could've like, done something?" He was sitting by Canada's lifeless body, needing confirmation that it had really happened, but didn't want to look at him for fear it was true.  
France sighed heavily. "Don't we all," he said in an uncharacteristically grim voice. _"Je suis désolé, mon Canada petit,"_ he said, looking into the pale pink wash water.  
"What?" America asked.  
France turned around to face him and gave him a small smile. "Nothing, America. I said nothing."


End file.
